A Warrior's Lady. Margaret Moore
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and his brothers are very welcome at court.”
“Oh, yes.” Those two young men who resembled him must, she reasoned, be those brothers.
Anne thought of all that Damon had said when he confronted Sir Reece. “Sir Urien was not nobly born himself, was he?”
Lisette shook her head vigorously as she reached for a ribbon to hold the braids in place over Anne’s ears. “He is a bastard, they say—but so was William the Conquerer.”
“I noticed that Sir Reece was with some other young men last night, in addition to his brothers. Were they trained by his father, too?”
Lisette giggled and blushed. “Oui. Those are the Morgans, from Wales. Their father is a great friend of Sir Urien, and so yes, they trained with him. They are very amusing and very charming, the oldest one in particular. Blaidd is his name. He told me it means wolf in Welsh, but he may only have been teasing me. Those eyes he has, so merry and yet—”
A loud knock sounded on the door, making both the women jump.
Maybe Piers was hurt and this was a summons to the tournament field!
Anne rushed to the door and threw it open to find a male servant with iron-gray hair and wearing a rust-colored woolen tunic standing on the threshold. “Yes?” she demanded breathlessly.
“My lady, you are to come with me, if you please.”
“Why?”
He blinked. “I have no idea, my lady. The king tells me to bring you to the hall, so I bring you to the hall.”
“It’s not my brother?”
The man was too well trained to show much of his confusion. “No, my lady.”
Lisette tugged at the back of her gown. “The king! The hall! Oh, la, my lady, we must finish your toilette!”
The man frowned a little as Anne let herself be pulled back to the dressing table.
“King Henry said at once,” he noted.
“Mon Dieu, she cannot go with her hair in the nest of a rat!” Lisette exclaimed, grabbing the silken scarf that matched the green of Anne’s gown.
Anne rose. “I should not keep the king waiting. Never mind the scarf, Lisette.”
Lisette stared at Anne as if she had decided to approach the king wearing filthy, soiled rags, then began to urge her mistress to adjust her sleeves, wear the scarf and pinch her cheeks to give them color for she was too pale by far.
Her stomach a knot of dread, Anne ignored her maid’s exclamations. She had no desire to emphasize her cursed beauty and she truly believed it would be folly to keep the king waiting.
As for what Henry wanted, that wasn’t so hard to guess: he must have heard about what had happened with Sir Reece.
If only her brutal half brothers had let Sir Reece go with a warning! If only she had fled the moment Sir Reece spoke to her. If only he had stayed behind in the hall.
She told herself it would have been worse if the servant had brought the message she had feared—that Piers was hurt. Nevertheless, she couldn’t calm the nervous flutter in her stomach, or quell her dread as the servant led her down the stairs and out into the courtyard.
It looked like rain, she vaguely noted, the scent fresh upon the wind and blessedly welcome after the stuffier confines of her chamber. A breeze tugged at her gown as if urging her to stay where she was.
A nice notion, and she would have preferred that course of action, but as the king summoned, so she must obey.
Soon enough they were at the entrance to the hall. The servant shoved open the ornately carved oaken doors and gestured for her to go in.
She hesitated on the threshold as the sound of hushed voices, some curious, some censorious, many wondering, washed over her like waves of water. The torches had been kindled, although it was still day, to light the hall that otherwise would be as dim as a cathedral. They enabled her to see the assembled crowd, which parted like the Red Sea before Moses when they realized she was there. The whole court was assembled and waiting, save for the squires who must still be on the field.
Every feeling in her heart urged her to flee, save one—pride. Pride demanded that she accept her half brothers’ taunts and punishments with silent endurance. Pride told her she must never do anything to shame Piers, or herself. Pride ordered her to act as if nothing at all were amiss and she was summoned into the king’s presence every day.
Mustering all the dignity she could, yet with her face burning because of the lie Damon had told and expected her to repeat, she began to walk forward. A smile of relief and joy leapt to her lips when she saw Sir Reece, until she saw the terrible bruise on his cheek and his bloodred eye and felt his searching scrutiny. Had he heard Damon’s version of events? Did he believe she was a willing participant in the lies Damon had told? She wished she could take him aside and explain!
She tore her gaze away and spotted Damon and Benedict standing on the queen’s left. Sir Reece and his friends were on the king’s right.
The hall was not that large, considering it was in the king’s castle, and yet the journey from the door to the king enthroned on the dais at the opposite end, his queen beside him, seemed miles long.
At last she reached the dais. She made her obeisance to the king and waited for him to speak.
Henry tilted his head to regard her. He appeared thoughtful and cunning, although the latter might be merely the effect of his drooping eyelid. As always, he was sumptuously attired, wearing a knee-length tunic of ivory samite, the sleeves slit to reveal a fine linen shirt. His breeches were faun colored, and his boots were gilded in a swirling pattern, as was his belt. His queen was likewise richly dressed, in a gown of beautiful sky blue damask.
“My lady,” the king began, sounding very majestic despite his youth, “a most disturbing situation has been brought to my attention.”
Shifting a little forward on the carved and cushioned wooden throne, he gestured at Sir Reece, who took a step toward her. “A very serious charge has been leveled against this young man, and we would have the truth of it.”
“Sire, I have told you the truth,” Damon declared, likewise stepping closer. However, he didn’t look at the king, whom he supposedly addressed. He spoke to Eleanor, their very distant relative. “This man attacked her.”
Scandalized whispers filled the hall and an angry murmur rose up from Sir Reece’s companions. The man himself stayed silent, his expression as enigmatic as she hoped hers was.
“So you have said, Sir Damon,” Henry replied, sliding him an unexpectedly suspicious glance, as if he was not automatically disposed to believe him.
If Henry suspected that Damon was lying about what had happened, would she not be wiser to stick to the truth, as every honorable instinct in her urged? Should she not cast her lot with Henry and Sir Reece rather than Eleanor and her half brothers?
But what of Damon’s threat? He had com-plete control over Piers’s life, too, so he could easily ensure that she never saw her beloved brother again.
“Sir Reece has denied the accusation,” the king continued. “So we have a stalemate. Therefore, it is time to hear Lady Anne’s version of events.”
“My liege, she is too upset to speak about what happened,” Damon smoothly lied to his king. “She is but a frail woman, after all.”
The frail woman felt the power of righteous indignation strengthen her resolve. He might lie to his sovereign lord, but she would not.
Yet because of Damon’s power over her and Piers, she must tread carefully. She dare not call him a liar in so public a place or indeed, at all. She must excuse him by saying that he was hotheaded and overly upset by an incident that would best be forgotten.
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